


Slipstream

by Anonymous



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Biology, F/M, Fun, Interspecies Sex, Mahjarrat, Mild Blood, Painful Sex, Shenanigans, Smut, damn rockfuckers, fucking a rock person, potentially an uncomfortable read with a fear of heights???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Yep. It'sanotherOswin/Sliske smutfic.The two of them fuck around (and also fuck) at the very peak of their recklessness.Focuses on Oswin and Sliske's specific flavour of obnoxious fun, as well as playing around with mahjarrat anatomy.
Relationships: Oswin Knax/Sliske (Runescape), Player Character/Sliske (Runescape)
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	Slipstream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Enkoro, whose art is worth selling your soul for.
> 
> This was not intended to go on anywhere near as long as it did, but oh boy, 6k+ words of rockfuck here we go

Once, this place had rung with birdsong. Now, only a few sounds remained: the creak of ancient wood, the fluttering of flags, and the bleary groans of one World Guardian as the daylight woke her up.

Midday was when the sun would stare down on them, only intensified by the citadel's skylights. "We really have to cover those up," Sliske noted. He was lounging on his back next to her, wearing a relatively unadorned robe for once. His knees were bent up in a way that _almost_ matched his height with hers, and he glared at the ceiling as if it had wronged him personally; all the while, one of his fingers absentmindedly stroked along Oswin's arm.

She gave him a sleepy smirk, her eyes still only half open. "We gotta smash 'em first."

"Oh, absolutely." His talons punctuated his glee with a deft flick along her forearm.

They'd already desecrated most of the place, both actively and by accident. Pots had been shattered in drunken stumbles or for stress relief, or just to hear the satisfying noises they made. Flags had been ripped down to be makeshift bandages, at times when they'd had no fabric to hand. The back of Armadyl's throne lay broken where it had fallen, testament to one of the pair's most intense nights together. There wasn't a surface around that hadn't witnessed their ecstatic fucking, and the debris they could leave from that was like the aftermath of a hurricane.

They lay among their wreckage, barely moving, Oswin savouring the sensation of Sliske's nails along her arm as their strokes brought her gently into wakefulness. She rolled her head just slightly to the side in the messy pile of her own hair, and gave Sliske a soft smile.

She took stock of her current state: pretty good, all things considered. The previous night had been a rough one, often in some ways that she didn't enjoy, and she'd had no time for the ways she _did_ enjoy before crashing to sleep exactly where she lay now. No hangover, fortunately — the night hadn't given her time to get past a mild buzz.

A floor was a floor, but something made the citadel's far more comfortable than that of a warband's makeshift jail cell. The company probably had a lot to do with that, she reflected. A jailer, infuriatingly resistant to any of the standard guard distraction techniques, versus a mahjarrat whose hands were working magic against the bare skin of her arm. No prizes for guessing her favourite.

Those burning hot fingertips worked absolute wonders on her. In some places better than others, of course, but right now the sensation on her arm followed the nerves right through her whole body. Mingling pleasantly with her sleepiness, she felt a warm feeling washing over her.

Still too tired to move, though, not even the inches between his face and hers. "Kiss me," she told him: a perfect solution.

"Hmmmm," he considered, while inexplicably not kissing her. "No, I think you should kiss _me_."

Fuck's sake. Making her work, this early in the technically-not-morning? "Nah, can't do that. How about you kiss _me._ "

"Rather demanding for someone who's just woken up. What's next, breakfast in bed?"

"Sounds perfect, thanks."

"Shame you're not in a bed, then. Kiss me."

At that point, she kissed him just to shut him up.

He hummed smugly against her lips in his petty little victory, and it pissed her off even as she relished the low vibration of the sound. Time to kiss him harder, then, diving deftly into the searing heat of his mouth while taking little nips at his lip. It was one of the few soft parts of him, where his crystal structure softened into not-quite-flesh, and even her blunt human teeth could work into it with relative ease.

Sliske was skirting just shy of doing likewise. She knew if he went for it, she'd be tasting blood for days.

Like it or not, he'd been right: being the one to move over had energised her in a way that the deep, succulent kisses were only strengthening. She was already half on top of him, their chests in a rolling press together, and in one swing of her leg she'd be straddling him —

He slipped out from under her and stood up instead, offering a hand to help her do the same. She got up without it.

"Fine, then. Make me exercise," she grumbled. "Where today?"

He ran his tongue across his pointed teeth. "I have a few venues in mind. Shall we?" He offered the hand again, and this time she took it — this time she _had_ to, or else she'd be left behind.

With one sharp tug of her arm, the two of them were through to the Shadow Realm. It was colder here — just at the fringe of being uncomfortable — and a constant background static prickled her skin.

A choice between this or walking, though? She'd take shadows every time.

Still holding Oswin's hand — making it the one point of warmth in this place — Sliske swerved right through an unseen corridor, and their surroundings warped to that of Baxtorian Falls. In the light of noon, it made for a pretty picturesque landscape, even with the sound and sunlight muted by the shadow realm.

She expected to feel dampness on the grass where she stood, from the spray and from the dew. Instead, there was nothing — just a dull, tangled turf beneath her bare feet.

Sliske let go of her hand, purely so he could make extravagant gesticulations to illustrate his sales pitch. "What a magnificent site this is! Splendid nature views! The roar of the waterfall: music to your ears, _madame_! The perfect location to settle down with two children and a dog." He paused, as if to consider an alternative. "Or we could fuck."

"We could, if we wanted to be fucking boring," Oswin observed.

Sliske grinned. "And naturally, boring fucking is the _very_ last thing we want. Thank you for not disappointing me, Oswin; shall we move on?" Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand once more and led her onwards.

This time, he navigated the slipstreams to a place that looked rather familiar, where Armadylean architecture (still standing after Bandos' death) made a spiralling connection from the ground into the sky. From the sides, it was open to the air; thankfully for the last traces of her sleepiness, though, the shadows did an excellent job at blotting out the worst of the daylight.

She'd been here before, of course, playing all sides of her role in the war that had been waged. This had been where the golem engineers worked: their workbenches now lay unused, prime real estate for desecration. Armadyl's symbol surrounded them in its fiery Sixth Age colours, blaring loud and overconfident.

"All the comforts of home, darling," Sliske drawled. "And in somewhat better condition, might I add. A little less vintage than what we're used to, but that's the price we pay for quality."

Oswin took it in and mulled it over. "You got me there," she conceded. "Is Crispy Wings himself still sitting upstairs?"

"I can check," he said, and darted aside into shadow to do so. He returned in an instant to confirm: "Oh, yes. The parrot's on his perch."

That certainly helped tip the balance. Right under the birdman's beak.

Barring the fact of his godhood, Armadyl hadn't done _much_ to inspire her hatred (the vandalism of his Citadel was born from convenience as much as anything else). But this room, with the golems powered by Guthix's energy — energy meant to empower _mortals_ , not to fuel yet another god's war... the urge to defile it was rising.

Gods, it got exhausting to play all sides of this; nothing like fucking in the shadow realm as an undetectable, cathartic _fuck you._

"Shall we?" Sliske prompted her, a little too quickly. There was just a hint of antsiness in his stance... and was that a slight tenting in his robes?

Sure, she'd happily have him right where they stood. But she decided to let mischief prevail.

Oswin whipped off her loose shirt, noting the sharp upward quirk in Sliske's brow. She bundled it up in her hand beside her. With one less thin barrier between her and shadow, the prickle lingered heavily on her skin, the cold becoming just that little bit more uncomfortable...

Every move here was a risky one. She was damn near more impatient than he was, and each time she taunted him, she only made it worse. At this point, she could barely think past the searing heat of his body, how the tingling cold could easily give way to _that_ , how all she needed to do was say the word...

She took one step closer to Sliske, then another. Her intense gaze closed the height gap between them, and the sheer lust oozing from her made her intent unmistakeable:

"No, I'm not quite convinced. Can we tour your other venues first?"

He slumped melodramatically, letting out a loud groan. Oswin had earned her grin.

"Fine." He took her free hand, intertwining their fingers in a rough grip, and took a simple, nimble leap with her to the next location. Though all places were nearby in the shadow realm, this in particular had been a short jump: Armadyl's tower was still visible from the roof of the White Knights' Castle where they stood.

"Only the roof?" Oswin remarked. "Not right under the blue man's nose?"

Sliske sighed. "No, the Temple Knights were one step ahead. They've installed shadow surveillance through most of the castle, but this happens to be one of their blind spots."

She nodded at that. No fun in getting caught — she _knew_ that catastrophe would ensue. That was an unarguable fact, firmly fixed in her mind: at all costs, their secret had to remain _secret._

Between that and vague recollections of the blue giant atop Askroth’s ruins, as remembered by the energy within her, there was a kind of fear that had no thrill to it whatsoever.

"Besides," Sliske added, "I'm not sure even I could stay hard for long in the presence of our _exalted_ Lord of Light."

"Alright, alright. Don't have to boast about your limp dick. The roof works fine."

No damn icyene on lookout today, hallelujah. She could see Armadyl, though, perched above the open air, oblivious to whatever debauchery they were about to conduct. A two-for-one deal on fuck yous to the gods — now that certainly had her tempted.

The roof was bordered by a crenellated ring, its diameter barely enough for Sliske to lie down comfortably. The crenellations themselves looked promising, though: the gaps between each raised fortification would fit Oswin just nicely.

And the fifty foot drop beneath them?

Even better.

"Is that a yes, Oswin?" That same anticipation had crept right back into his voice.

 _Was_ it a yes?

"Any other venues?" she asked, just as a cursory gesture.

He pursed his lips. "I _may_ have had another one in mind."

She looked back at the edge of the roof, imagined him fucking her full force over that sheer drop.

"I don't care," she said. She tossed her discarded shirt onto the ground — and leapt right up to kiss him.

He caught her on reflex; he knew the routine. His huge hands clutched at her ass, holding her up and on him. Her legs were spread bent around his torso, her groin pressed against his midsection, and she quickly got to making a desperate friction against it — the clothing between them be damned. She brought her face up to his and brought his lips into a kiss: she plunged her tongue into his mouth, making dangerous close scrapes by his razor blade teeth, and thumbed at his head ridges through his hood all the while.

It wasn't long before she brought the hood down. One hand ran riot among the valleys and peaks of his head, decidedly grateful to be unobstructed. The other snuck under the robe's opening at the neck, to the place where a human's collarbones would be, and stroked the light markings that curled across him. There was a different texture there, like marble, and more solid: smooth, long dents carved in half-liquid crystal skin. Each one of them burnt white hot to the touch, but she only ever pressed in deeper.

She'd worn simple leggings under last night's armour, and these were what Sliske palmed at now, plated fingers getting their thousandth feel at the soft flesh beneath the fabric. One finger worked its way between her legs, stroking along the outline it found there, and — pushing her up for just a second so that he could readjust — let the other hand support her ass while this one dipped beneath the waistband to get right at what he wanted.

It was like tipping oil on a bonfire.

Oswin pivoted, tipping her head to the side to enjoy the hot firmness of his jawline; the area below the hard prongs, leading down into the neck, was another of Sliske's damn weak spots. The crystal sheen there had a gentle, unnatural give. The first touch she made there, lips on smooth surface, brought out a jagged moan — and she _felt_ it, resonating through his throat and onto her lips. Felt the jump of the finger rubbing tiny, firm circles below. She found herself grinning against his skin...

 _Oh._ She'd gasped, involuntarily, as Sliske had slipped a finger into her. His talon was blunted, thankfully — a quick, deliberate shapeshift as learned after painful mishaps — but still long enough to trace tangible paths inside her. He buried himself in there right up to his second knuckle, flexing a smooth fingerpad into her as his joints' harsh edges dug against her soft flesh, and all the while maintaining the rub of his thumb just outside. The pain there was well-negotiated, within the limits of what she could enjoy... and more than enough for the feeling of him to linger.

Oswin was losing control. Her eyes were shut tight, her hands now both gripping him, clutching and closing around his head and shoulder. Her elbow gave juddering flexes, snaked up the back of his neck. Her lips were just a conduit for every shaking, desperate breath — far too disordered to venture a bite or a kiss. He had the upper hand, she _knew_ it, and while she was so tempted to surrender —

She kicked him, _hard._. Backwards jab with the heel, right in his damn bony asscheek. 

"Ow!" he yelped, glaring as if she were a rather impudent mosquito. That interrupted his constant motion, giving her a bare second to recoup before she went for the neck with her teeth.

The damn giant of a being actually _stumbled back_ at that, hissing instantly at the connection — and again in little aftershocks as it continued, as she sucked sections of semisolid flesh into her mouth, and bit hard enough to _try_ and leave a mark. Even human teeth could do that with persistence, and by no means was Oswin stopping now.

At some point, he seemed to have remembered himself well enough to keep on fingering — but the momentum was lost, and while the occasional movement would get her in _just_ the right way, she'd retaliate by tilting her bite to bring in the sharp canines, digging them in all the deeper.

She released the suction and drew her mouth away, looking at her work. There — the swelling patterned in slight swirls, liquid crystal pooling purple just beneath the surface, centred on the few dark toothmarks she'd left behind. She brought a single hand down from its grasp at her head, and traced a thumb against her handiwork in ghoulish satisfaction.

Now that the assault on his neck had ended, Sliske could wrench back his self-control. 

"If you're going to keep doing that, I'll have you exiled to Darkmeyer," he said decisively, withdrawing his slick finger and readjusting to grip her ass with both hands once more — then carrying her forward to the wall and plonking her down on one of the fortified gaps. She sat tight on the well-cut brick, treating the raised stone on either side as armrests — she'd be tempted to peek back at the dizzying drop below, if not for Sliske undressing himself right in front of her.

He kicked his shoes right off, lifting the lower hem of his robe and lifting it _right_ up — and yep, not a damn stitch of clothing beneath it. There were the markings that curled and swerved all the way along him, only interrupted by the scars that dug in even deeper (like a few that ran around his side, in some near-mockery of a human ribcage). There were protruding corners where his outer skin seemed a poor fit for his bones, where it ran over them like cloth on a loom. There were parts of his body where the bones themselves seemed structured unlike anything she knew — skull, spine, pelvis all seemed to have some analogue, but the twin juts at the end of his elbow had her picturing a goddamn wishbone. Other parts seemed to work in ways that they really shouldn't; she could never stop noticing how the bend of his left knee seemed just a few degrees _off_. Despite all that, he functioned, and he towered over her without trying.

And of course, in spite of her teasing earlier, his dick was well and truly hard by this point. _That,_ at least, worked just like a human's in all the ways that she enjoyed — yet even at a single glance, you could tell it wasn't meant for a body like hers. Dark crystal strata in an uneven formation were there to shield anything soft, but Oswin knew how a well-worked finger could ease its way underneath to make far more sensitive contact. His reactions to _that_ were always a sight to see.

He was leaning down over her now: one hand propping himself up on one of hers, the other cupping her head and tilting her back, and his dick directly on top of her — stretching from her hips past her navel to the muscles at her abdomen. The thick, heavy ridges grazed heat against her skin.

Sliske dipped her into a kiss, his hand tangling through her hair. That clawed grip was the only thing between her and thin air. She loved the tingling thrill of being suspended over nothing, of his aggressive kiss pushing her further down into empty space, of the constant shifting of his hand behind her head — still holding her, still supporting her, but refusing to ever stay still.

She risked letting go of the wall with one hand, then eased out the other hand from where Sliske's lay on top of it. There was nothing supporting her against the void now, save Sliske holding her at her head — although, with his arms more than long enough to span her entire body, she didn't doubt that he could catch her if she fell.

Their lips still locked in the kiss, she nicked her tongue on one of his teeth — and didn't care.

Now that her hands were free, one drifted down to his dick, working fingers into the underside of the very top ridge (and feeling him tug her hair involuntarily at that). The other tugged her waistband down, at last; lifting her hips just a bit, she had the leggings and underwear pulled down just enough to meet their needs. Cold and shadow bit anew at the exposed skin of her thighs... but she tolerated it, knowing that Sliske's heat was about to smother every trace.

Here they were, about to be fucking in broad daylight, right at the heart of Saradominist power. The audacity of it was ecstatic, but the anticipation for what came next was greater still.

Sliske broke the kiss, still holding onto her head — now, of all times, would not do to have her toppling down to the ground. His eyes were half-lidded, but Oswin could see an odd glint shine through them regardless. The _mischevious_ kind, the kind that she _knew_ meant a trick in store.

 _Oh no you don't,_ she thought. She transferred her other hand to his dick as well, finding each gap in the rippled obsidian, and _that_ had his eyes closing completely.

There. Whatever he might have had in mind was irrelevant. Sliske would be thinking with his dick now, and _not a damn thing else._

According to plan, Sliske backed himself up just the tiniest amount; now Oswin could angle his dick downwards, lining it up just where she wanted it. Once that burning hot contact was made, he edged himself forward, and slipped so, so slowly inside her...

... but she felt no more than the first ridge before he stopped moving, simply halted at her entrance while the rest of her screamed to be filled.

Oswin couldn't help but buck back up at him, writhing to find purchase on the next ridge along. Fifty foot drop be damned — she brought her legs up as well, trying to hook around him and bring him _right_ down into her. And with her hands' frenzied clutching at his dick, she was near ripping the thing off and fucking her own damn self with it.

No luck with any of these, of course: all of a sudden, the man was a goddamn statue. He kept a straight face, somehow, but the tip of his dick was a burning taunt in itself.

"Bastard," she grunted breathlessly.

Sliske gave a contorted gasp. " _Me?_ Whyever would you call me such a thing?" And _now_ he smiled, showing all of his teeth. "Just for that..."

And the fucker withdrew completely, the heat dissipating into a cold absence where he'd been.

"Hey!" Oswin yelled. "You get right back in there, you daft —"

— he pulled her upright, then let go of her so she could sit perched on the edge. Sliske strode forward to the low walls of the rooftop, looking out across the Asgarnian landscape, then turned his head back just to shoot a cheesy wink.

"Catch me if you can." He tucked his naked knees up in a cannonball as he jumped, plummeting right over the edge.

" _Hey!_ " Oswin ran over to where he'd leapt — not an easy task, with her leggings still around her knees. By the time she got there, he was long gone, no doubt having aimed for some handily-placed shadow current.

Still insatiably aroused, and with a tragic lack of mahjarrat dick to fix that, she found herself shuffling grumpily around the rooftop. With Sliske gone, the cold was far more noticeable, the background prickling sensations far more irritating. She kept tasting her own blood: she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to stem the bleeding.

"'Catch me if you can,'" she muttered. " _Hah._ " Oswin's proficiency with the shadow realm was that of a gerbil with a toothbrush, so clearly _that_ was out of the question. That left her no choice but to mope around till whenever he deigned to return. And at that point, she would fucking kill him.

She looked down to her half-removed leggings, underwear hanging uselessly on top of them. _On or off?_ she thought. She eventually settled on 'off': the sweat soaking them was bad enough already, not even accounting for other fluids. She picked up her discarded shirt, and draped his heavy mass of robe across the crook of her arm (damn him and his incessantly melodramatic fashion sense). Already, this was far too much to carry, and still his shoes were taunting her from the ground. They could stay there, for all she cared.

A hand emerged from the air. His, of course, and stretched out for her to hold.

She flipped a middle finger at it.

The hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her through anyway, spinning her (carried clothes and all) into their next setting: an upper floor of the Black Knights' Fortress, where a balustrade overlooked some dire sermon at the altar.

"Fancy playing poltergeist?" Sliske proposed with a waggle of his eyebrows, giving a sweeping gesture down to the congregation below. "For all they preach about 'chaos', these sermons really are so insufferably stuffy. Makes them rather easy pickings... though it's no less fun for it."

Oswin was not amused. She looked at him steely-eyed, a single eyebrow judgmentally raised.

"Don't get too distracted. You've got a job to finish, remember?" She tossed the heavy clothing aside to give an insistent tap at her crotch, just in case he'd forgotten where it was.

"Don't you remember what I said?" was Sliske's retort. "I asked you to catch me, and if my recollection serves me well, _I_ ended up having to catch _you._ Rather poor form, wouldn't you say?"

Oswin snorted. "We'll see about that." And she picked up Sliske's big, heavy robe again, this time wielding it as a weapon —

"Oh, we're playing _that_ , are we?" Sliske remarked... before bolting for the nearest staircase.

Oswin had no choice but to dash after him. "Nope, nope, nope! Get your sorry ass back here," she yelled as she ran, flicking the robe in the general direction of the aforementioned sorry ass.

He ran down the spiral stairs, Oswin following shortly afterwards, menacingly flicking the robe out as she went. The two of them, still stark naked, ended up chasing each other between the unholy pews, winding a looping trail around them while the worshippers bowed in prayer.

The issue here was that Sliske was _insufferably fast_ : each time Oswin got near to catching him, he'd long-leggedly spring right away, carelessly traipsing his way through a full row of robed Zamorakians. That did nothing to discourage her pursuit, of course — she just whipped the robe all the harder.

Sliske fled up the aisle and, when face to face with the presiding priest, took a moment to pause. Oswin slowed, creeping up behind him, and — grabbed nothing but tingling wisps of shadow.

He came back, though, a foot to the left... now armed with Oswin's underwear and an evil grin.

"Hey!" Oswin cried out, but too late — Sliske had already tossed the garment through shadow into the physical plane, where it drifted gracefully to drape itself right over the preacher's eyes.

The uproar was immediate: the congregation stood, shouting discordantly while the priest tore the thing off his face. A bustle of outrage swelled within the hall, the orderly lines of prayer now thoroughly broken.

"There we go! _That's_ chaos," Sliske gloated in his triumph.

"You — you bastard, I _liked_ those," Oswin spluttered through her laughter. "Oh!" She clapped a hand on Sliske's bare back as she near-doubled over in hysterics: "Got you now."

Sliske gasped in glee, and grabbed her by the waist to pull her through shadow back upstairs; he took the robe from her, tossed the soft cloth of it to fold across the nearby balustrade, then lifted Oswin to sit up there, atop his makeshift pillow.

It was dark here, a darkness only enhanced by shadow. Sliske moved to stand in front of her, blocking the glow of flaming torchlight. The unholy chapel's scant red light was all that lit her, echoing from behind and below.

Oswin crossed her legs, one thigh over the other, and posed impishly on the handrail. "You know, given how you left me all alone earlier, I'm not sure I wanna fuck you now." Her smirk contorted the scar across her face. "Give me one good reason. Go on."

Sliske gave a deep, thoughtful hum, stroking at the spikes on his chin. "I think I have an idea," he said, and began to act it out: he put a gentle hand to massage the back of her neck, then parted his lips and leaned in to softly kiss hers.

 _Too_ softly.

There were times when they were gentle, not from hesitance, but from love. They'd had some beautiful nights like that, drunk on adoration — but now? Today was reckless, full-throttle fun. She wanted every ounce of his strength, and no less.

And so, she put a hand on the layered crystal of his arm and broke the kiss: "You're gonna have to give me more than that."

He narrowed his eyes just slightly before tightening his grip on the back of her neck, talons making pinpricks around her spine. He grabbed a breast and spread his fingers out across it, five kindred points of sharpness far outshining the pinpricks from the shadow realm. His palm rolled the soft flesh in a rough, ceaseless rhythm.

The hand at her neck wound upwards into her hair, tangling and tugging through each strand it passed; the hard-edged plates along his forearm dug furrows into her back. The hand at her breast ventured downwards, nails dragging skin with just enough pressure to leave marks. He left those white scratches as a trail down her body, his hard fingers bumping along the defined lines at her abdomen; the muscles there tensed at the touch. Oswin clung to the handrail and savoured it all, and when she felt one talon hook into the crossing of her thighs... she opened them.

His hand left her hair, almost regrettably, moving to the small of her back to support her there; she found his other hand pushing her knee aside. Oswin was now more than happy to do the rest of the work there, spreading her legs wide apart for him... and finding him kneeling down between them. One hand at her back, the other gripping her thigh: the talons dug in, just short of breaking skin. And from there, he ducked his head down between her legs.

Eyes closed in bliss, Sliske sucked at her, his strangely soft lips flowing warmly against her flesh; he darted his silver tongue out, teasing her with its tip back and forth. Oswin gasped. " _Oh._ Oh, that's a good reason. Good reason, good reason — _ah!_ " Clinging desperately to the handrail and kicking her legs out around him, she screamed in delight as the unknowing Kinshra swarmed past.

His palm glided up and down the dip of her back as she arched it involuntarily. With his other hand clamping down ever harder on her thigh, it was almost inevitable that one talon would pierce through. Blood blossomed up where it struck, but Oswin was past the point of caring — just another point of pleasure in the sensory overload. Instead, she grabbed his shoulder and the back of his head, blunt nails skating over the hot, smooth strata of crystal. She pulled him closer into her, an opportunity he made good use of: his deft tongue slid where it may, wet and scorching hot yet gliding with unknowable alien smoothness.

There was noise, there was chaos. The Kinshra were searching the place, some even passing right through them. But none of that meant a damn thing. All that mattered was the muffled sounds of Sliske's diligence — and Oswin's ecstasy in response.

"Hurry up and... and... oh, _fuck me already_ ," she managed to cry out amid her gasps.

No more games. There was a golden flame of lust in his eye, the cruel glint of a fang in his grin: Sliske, his patience long gone, needed no further excuse.

He stood, taller than her even as she sat perched on the balustrade; she looked at him from ankle to head, sizing up his full imposing figure. Keeping that hand tucked into her back, Sliske used the other to carefully line himself up: edging forward, he dipped just one ridge deep into the wetness and the warmth, and —

— _lunged_ forward, plunging into her as deep as he possibly could. Oswin _screamed_ , infinitely relieved to feel him again — the solid crystal forcing her to yield, the punishing ridges scraping past and through her, the burning heat that echoed all over her body. Slowly, slowly, Sliske drew himself out, dragging his edges inside her as he went — then shoved back in, fucking an unwavering heartbeat into her.

She brought a trembling hand around to his spine, scrambling to find a good grip; she caught fingertips on a plated ridge and grabbed it as well as she could. His back buckled and flexed with every vicious movement, and yet — she held on.

His length wouldn't permit him to bury himself completely (even as she strained to stretch around him, as she felt him take the full space inside her). Reluctant, grunting, he shapeshifted just slightly to shorten himself for her — and _now_ he sank right into her, bottoming out in a satisfying slam.

Every stroke of him was almost too much. A mahjarrat fucking a human — they fit, but only _barely_ , always dangerously close to breaking point. When they connected, her hips were almost too narrow to spread her thighs around him; it was a constant strain keeping them so far apart, and each collision only added to that. His strength was superhuman, but she'd be damned if she let him hold it back.

The force of him threatened to knock her over the edge, down onto the altar below. But he held onto her, a large hand cupping her back, each segment of his fingers making a dent in soft skin. The other hand danced over her, visiting wherever it pleased: it grabbed hold of one of her quivering breasts, and he moved the pad of a thumb over her nipple. No motion could be gentle now, not through each insatiable thrust of his hips into hers.

He put a smooth, solid thumb to her clit, right above his dick sliding sharply in and out; as the aggressive motion of his hips continued, he ground the thumb roughly around her. Her head snapped up skywards in pleasure, her spine stretched right to full tautness, her eyes half-closed and near watering, her vision turning static at the edges, the pressure within her building to an unavoidable peak...

The dam burst. She came with a hoarse, ragged shriek, clutching at him with shaking arms and legs, spasming in front of him and all around him as he _continued_ in that constant motion. No chance of holding onto him now, not with her fingers convulsing out of control. Infinite heat flooded through her: from where his body made contact, from each burning thrust he made into her, and from the sheer force of her own orgasm. Her face burnt red — all except the white streak of the scar.

"Keep going," she panted, even then.

Sliske couldn't slow down now if he tried. Sounds escaped from him, raw and primal, deeper than the range of any human. His hips unleashed like an uncoiling spring, bucking fiercely forward each time, now losing their rhythm in favour of unrestrained need.

Oswin was breathing with an audible wheeze, tasting her blood pumping with her pulse. Her head had bobbed down in her release, but Sliske took a handful of her hair, bringing her upright and face-to-face. Despite the physical ordeal and the way he _still_ fucked her limp form, she looked right into his gleaming eyes and gave an exhausted, lopsided grin.

"Fuck, I love you," she slurred.

He couldn't _not_ kiss her at that. It was a messy kiss, streaked with blood and saliva and shaken every time their bodies joined, but it was _wonderful._ They groped carelessly at each other's lips; she took one of his into her mouth, sucked at it lazily with all the energy she had left, and bit down into it for good measure.

A few more deliriously sensitive thrusts, wetly scraping right through her, and he was on the edge. He seized her head, mussing her hair around each clawed finger; the kiss continued, greedy and intense, his tongue delving into her mouth. He fucked right into her one more time and stayed there, legs quaking as he came: it was an instant, _searing_ heat, and he massaged her head with every burst of it that came forth. She shuddered, aching as it burned her all the way through. Regardless, she held on tight, wrapped her arms right round him, and rode out the merciless inferno — a few weak clenches around him, a few weary motions of her hips, and he was done.

They stayed locked together for a few minutes more. As much as it ached her legs, as much as he wanted to lie beside her, both of them needed to savour this together. They held each other as the heat gently ebbed away.

She felt his back under her hands. Something inexplicable — magic? — would flow through his markings every time, and she could feel the current slowing. Whatever it was, it had a resonance: a pleasant buzz against her fingertips. She pressed her fingers in, not wanting to let go.

Regardless, as their wild energy faded, she became a little more conscious of the Black Knight bustle around them. There was an insistent twinge in the back of her mind, telling her she should be concerned.

"They won't find us, right?" she whispered, her voice still hoarse — and fearful to break their own silence.

"I checked," Sliske panted. "Khazard's busy, he's crying for his mummy down in Uzer. Hazeel, I think, was chasing a werewolf... so neither will be bothering us just yet."

"Good," Oswin said, adjusting her grip at his spine.

She could feel his dick slowly retracting, each ridge nesting back into each other as it softened out of her. She took that as her cue to shuffle a little forward, and Sliske took the signal to lift her down. Oswin almost collapsed where she landed, her legs suddenly jelly — he held her until she was safely upright. From there, they picked up the (thoroughly ruined) robe, as well as Oswin's discarded shirt and leggings. The underwear, of course, was unsalvageable by this point, doubtlessly sitting in some dark, hidden Kinshra evidence drawer.

From there, they went back to the citadel — this time into the real world, Oswin's bare skin thankful to be leaving the shadow. They fell immediately into their bed: it was cold, but Sliske's heat soon set that right. And any bed was better than the floor.

They snuggled into each other, Oswin taking Sliske's heat against her front as his back curled into her.

"Good morning," Sliske said.

Oswin laughed, and threw her arms around to hold him tight.

(They never did pick up his shoes.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [FlamtaersRevenge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamtaersRevenge) for beta reading... and for being an inspirational trailblazer in the field of "selling your soul to Enko".


End file.
